As a young woman, I somehow feel confused with the aim of my existence.

Early in the morning the white hot sun is already baking,
could I then awake,
before the rain pours down later.

Awakening

Morning sun climbs in the blue

Shimmering indigo hues

Lift the sunrise, raised

By hands invisible,

Clouds that dragged by.

In praise of mother nature.

What the writer felt during her confinement at the institution at the age of sixteen… she spent 40 days and 40 nights there.

More Razorwind poetry up.

This is a poem about a young girl who is afraid of the man-made world. She finds a sanctuary in the natural world and wishes to stay there for an eternity.

Awakening. Phase:1.

The familiar sting awakens my senses.

3/28/2012.